


To Remember Him

by morephan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lydia-centric, POV Lydia, Stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morephan/pseuds/morephan
Summary: basically this is a super short head canon for season 6 of Lydia remembering Stiles - hope you enjoy!! side note: without Stiles, there's no telling how all of the characters relationships/friendships unfolded, so i took creative liberty on that.





	

Remember. I have… to remember. It’s like when you can’t remember the lyrics to your favorite song, even though you yell them carelessly when you’re driving down the highway. You feel so stupid, because you KNOW you know them. You just can’t remember. I have to remember. 

I’ve been driving aimlessly for hours in this stupid jeep. It has my things scattered around the interior. A picture of me, Scott, and Malia sitting on the dash. My sweater in the back seat. Lipstick in the cup holder. Everything here is so clearly mine, but then again I feel as if I’m trespassing. I know I have permission to be here, but it feels as if something is missing. So I’m driving. I don’t really remember when I learned to drive stick, but here I am, stuck at a red light, tapping my fingers lightly on the shift. 

Gosh, what am I trying to remember? This is going to drive me nuts. I’m actually starting to get a headache from this, along with a ringing in my ears. It’s so loud. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. It hurts so bad. It hurts like the first time you were yelled at by your parents. It hurts like when Jackson said goodbye, even though he wasn’t good for me. It hurts like when Allison moved schools. It hurts like when she hasn’t responded to any of my texts. It hurts like seeing Scott in the halls and pretending we don't miss hanging out like we used to. It hurts like Malia falling behind in classes and refusing to accept my help. It hurts like when everything around you is falling apart. It hurts like something you love so dearly is torn from you, before you get the chance to say goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. I never got the chance to say goodbye. Why can’t I remember? Who is it I never said goodbye to? 

The tears are hot on my face like a fever. My head is screaming. God, I’ve got to pull over. I feel like my head is about to explode. Someone help me. I’m trying to scream, but nothing’s coming out. God, I feel like I’m dying. I feel like I’m dying. Someone come help me. Someone come save me. My vision’s blurry, I can’t see. I can’t see someone help me I can’t remember I can’t remember what I have to remember someone help me someone find me someone find me someone come for me someone’s going to come for me someone’s going to find me someone’s going to come for me someone’s going to find me 

...

“Sweetheart, are you awake? Hello? Here, try to sit up. My names Sheriff Stilinski. I work at the police station. Do you know why you’re here?”

He shows me his badge, and I can barely focus on it. My head is still pounding. I shake my head, confused and dazed. “I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to—“ 

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. Don’t start crying on me now. I didn’t take you inside, because I didn’t want to freak you out or make you uncomfortable. When I got home from.. work, you were sitting on my porch screaming. I touched your arm, and you fainted. Have you been doing something you don’t want me to know about?”

I put my head in my hands, and rub my temples. Why am I here? 

“No, no. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I was… I was at school, I think. Last night. With a friend, I don’t know I can’t remember. Maybe I was by myself. I just got this massive headache, and I couldn’t remember what I was doing in the passenger seat of my… jeep. I don’t think it’s my jeep. It’s not. It’s not my jeep. It’s trashed. Why would my jeep be trashed? But all of my things are in it.”

At this point, my head is reeling and I can’t stop thinking or even speaking. I’ve got to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Sheriff is probably thinking I’m crazy, but he just puts his arm around me. He reminds me of Scott, for some reason, I don’t know. He’s warm and kind. He reminds me of someone. I can’t remember… Is he the one I’m trying to remember? What am I doing here? 

“Do you have any ibuprofen? I have a really bad headache. My phone’s dead. I need to make a call. Do you mind if I come inside, sir? I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t—“ 

“Of course. What’s your name?” He smiles kindly. He looks restless, though, almost hungover. He looks like he’s hurting. I don’t want him to be hurting. He means a lot to me. Why? Why does he mean a lot to me? I just met him, but I feel like I’ve known him since I was a kid.

“Lydia. Lydia Martin.” 

His eyes twinge with a sort of recognition, but is quickly swatted away. I don’t think he is the one I’m trying to remember, but he is a part of it. Maybe a key to remembering. He opens the door to a dark house. 

It seems as if it could be warm and inviting, but there are no family pictures. Instead, they are replaced with empty beer bottles. The TV is static, not a favorite cartoon or superhero movie. The fuzzy blanket I always loved staying underneath during the fall is replaced with a white sheet and a pillow, as if Stilinski had been sleeping down here instead of in his and Claudia’s room. Stiles would be freaking out right now, quickly throwing away the bottles, trying to facilitate in getting rid of all evidence leading to his father’s bad habits.

Stiles.

Everything has stopped. I remember. I remember everything. I collapse to the ground, which elicits an immediate reaction from Stilinski. I can’t stop crying. Every time I try to stop I just see him. Looking me in the eyes, telling me not to forget. How could I have forgotten? Stiles, I’m so sorry.

“I’m so sorry. Stiles, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I love you, too. I’m so sorry.” 

Stilinski picks me up and sets me on the couch, confused and incredibly concerned, but I can’t think straight. I can’t think about Stilinski when he doesn’t even remember his son. He doesn’t ask me any questions, or tries to get me to speak to him. He just lets me ride out this… whatever it was. No, I know what it was. The last time I witnessed something like this, was in the floor of a locker room with a boy I thought I’d convinced myself to never fall in love with. With a boy I knew I was always in love with. I kissed him out of it, but he is not here to do the same for me. I hold my breath, I let it out. I repeat until I am calm once again. 

We sit on the couch for hours it seems. In total silence. I call my mother, and tell her I’m staying at a friend’s house. Which is true, Stiles’s is my best friend. This house just… isn’t his right now. Stilinski and I watch every Marvel movie that has ever come out. He had them all on DVD. I guess you can take the memory of Stiles out of the house, but little things remain the same. 

Stilinski decides I need to go to bed, and shows me to his room. It’s barren, desolate. Sure, it’s furnished, but no one has slept here in years. I say thank you, and wait until he walks back downstairs to venture into Stiles’s room. I wonder what it’s like.

I walk down the hallway and turn to my left, where his door is. No, where it should be. I stare at the wall for a good 5 minutes, inspecting every crevice, every inch, in search for the entrance to his room. That room was everything to me. It was where he told me he loved me. Not like he did in the jeep earlier that night. But when he told me he would go back to the school and look all night if it made me feel any better. When he said he would go crazy if I died. That was his “I love you”, I just didn’t have the guts to say it back. I didn’t want to loose him. If I said it, I knew I would. It was inevitable. Yet, here I am. Staring at a wall I don’t know what’s behind. I had never lashed out in anger before, but I punched that wall as if my life depended on it. A strip of wallpaper cascaded onto the floor by my feet. Behind where it once was, there was no door. There was nothing. I slid down the wall, and I cried. I cried for Stiles. I cried for 10 years of friendship. I cried for our unspoken yet fully understood love for another. I cried for everything I should have said, and everything I didn’t. I cried for letting him go. 

I stopped crying once I realized everything I was willing to sacrifice to get him back.


End file.
